Filtering by Category: Short Story

Before the final bell, a distraught Ms. D shared a story with her class. It probably wasn’t “age appropriate” but it bothered her enough to the point where she just had to talk out loud to try and make sense of it all. Teachers do this from time to time; partly because the classroom is a safe circle for everyone and also because you don’t expect the children to really get anything from it other than seeing you as more human. Maybe they’ll in turn trust you should they ever need your help or maybe give you less flack for making them to do their homework. Perhaps you just need a little free therapy.

Either way, it was the tragic story of a life cut short by violence, something that was all over the news and no more heinous or disturbing than any other story from any other week: a young woman treated as a human toilet, a child killed as collateral in some faceless war… It came on the anniversary of a tragedy in Ms. D’s life, which probably left her more vulnerable than usual. As the bell rang, she felt her eyes water and quickly wiped a tear before it could fall. Smiling weakly to her class, she offered a coy apology and an improvised afterschool special that would’ve made any band of cartoon heroes proud. The chairs went up and she dismissed her little wards as they quietly filed out into the sun.

After violin practice, little Rosebud was sitting at the dinner table, and her father asked what she learned at school. Since the human mind best remembers the beginning and the end, she pondered for a moment before recalling the morning’s lesson about immigration after the Great War and Ms. D’s story at the end of the day. “Ms. D was quite upset about what happened,” Rosebud explained with a frown. Her father nodded in approval. He then went on to talk about how their ancestors fled here to escape a similar fate. He scowled about a similar story that happened back “home,” and ended the discussion with, “We’re just not human to them.”

After prayer, little Ishmael was sitting at the dinner table, and his father asked what he learned at school. Since the human mind best remembers the beginning and the end, he pondered for a moment before recalling the morning’s lesson about immigration after the Great War and Ms. D’s story at the end of the day. “Ms. D was quite upset about what happened,” Ishmael explained with a frown. His father nodded in approval. He then went on to talk about how their ancestors fled here to escape a similar fate. He scowled about a similar story that happened back “home,” and ended the discussion with, “We’re just not human to them.”

After piano lessons, little Mae was sitting at the dinner table, and her mother asked what she learned at school. Since the human mind best remembers the beginning and the end, she pondered for a moment before recalling the morning’s lesson about immigration after the Great War and Ms. D’s story at the end of the day. “Ms. D was quite upset about what happened,” Mae explained with a frown. Her mother nodded in approval. She then went on to talk about how their ancestors fled here to escape a similar fate. She scowled about a similar story that happened back “home,” and ended the discussion with, “We’re just not human to them.”

After soccer practice, little Jorge was sitting at the dinner table, and his father asked what he learned at school. Since the human mind best remembers the beginning and the end, he pondered for a moment before recalling the morning’s lesson about immigration after the Great War and Ms. D’s story at the end of the day. “Ms. D was quite upset about what happened,” Jorge explained with a frown. His father nodded in approval. He then went on to talk about how their ancestors fled here to escape a similar fate. He scowled about a similar story that happened back “home,” and ended the discussion with, “We’re just not human to them.”

After basketball practice, little Keyshanah was sitting at the dinner table, and her mother asked what she learned at school. Since the human mind best remembers the beginning and the end, she pondered for a moment before recalling the morning’s lesson about immigration after the Great War and Ms. D’s story at the end of the day. “Ms. D was quite upset about what happened,” Keyshanah explained with a frown. Her mother nodded in approval. She then went on to talk about how their ancestors fled here to escape a similar fate. She scowled about a similar story that happened back “home,” and ended the discussion with, “We’re just not human to them.”

After playing video games all afternoon, little John was forced to sit at the dinner table, and his mother asked him what he learned at school. Annoyed with the constant badgering by his mother, he replied, “Ugh… we didn’t learn anything. Some war… people died… Ms. D started crying… I think she’s losing her mind. Can we eat in front of the TV now?” His mother scowled because this was becoming an all-too familiar story. There must be something rotten going on at that school. It was decided: Tomorrow she would march in there and talk to the principal about this Ms. D who was clearly not doing her job. And how could she with all these little brown kids running around like animals?